An Echo in the Darkness(102)

Ezra stood at the gate and watched Marcus walk down the road. He was filled with a deep compassion for the tormented young Roman and wondered what would happen to him. Turning toward home, Ezra prayed that God would place a hedge of protection around Marcus as he traveled.

Jehosheba glanced up from her work as Ezra entered the house. “Perhaps now that he is gone, everything will return to normal.”

“Nothing will ever be the same again,” Ezra said.

“Bartholomew walked Taphatha home from the well yesterday afternoon. He said she hardly spoke to him.” She pressed her lips together. “She never had trouble finding words with that Roman you brought into our house.”

“She will have the man God intends for her.”

She dropped the garment she was repairing into her lap and looked up at him. “And who will that be?”

“You worry too much, woman,” he said and ladled water into a clay cup.

“You used to worry more about Taphatha than I.” Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. “What’s happened to you over the last few days?”

“Wondrous things,” he said and drank.

She frowned in annoyance. “What wondrous things?”

He set the cup down. Soon he would tell her, but not now. “I need time to sort through what I have learned before I can explain in a way you will understand.”

“I am such a fool? Tell me, Ezra. While you’re sorting through whatever it is you’ve learned, will you work at your booth again?”

Ezra didn’t answer. He stood in the open doorway and looked down the street. Taphatha was coming from the market, a basket balanced on her head. Bartholomew was walking beside her. He was a good and persistent young man.

Ezra had not told his daughter Marcus was to leave this morning. He supposed it was the coward’s way out. Her feelings for Marcus had become more and more apparent with each day. And Marcus Valerian’s attraction for her had been noticed as well. It was to the young man’s credit that he had left when he did. A lesser man would have remained to take advantage of a beautiful girl’s infatuation.

But what was he to do now?

Jehosheba came to stand beside him. “Do you see how she ignores him? And all because of a Roman,” she said bitterly, but when she raised her head and looked at him, Ezra saw the chagrin in her expression. “What will you say to her?”

“I will tell her Marcus Lucianus Valerian has gone.”

“And good riddance,” she said as she turned away. “It would have been far better if he had left sooner.” She sat down and took the worn garment again.

Taphatha paused and spoke briefly with Bartholomew. She turned toward the house again, and Bartholomew stood watching her go the last bit of distance. Clearly dejected, he turned away and started down the street again.

“Good morning, Father,” she called cheerfully as she came the last bit of the way. Lowering the basket from her head, she kissed his cheek and entered the house.

“How is Bartholomew?” Jehosheba said, keeping her eyes on her work.

“He is well, Mother.”

“So are others,” she muttered under her breath.

Taphatha took the fruit from the basket and placed it in the clay bowl on the table. “He said his mother is already preparing plum hamantashen for the mishlo’ah manot this year.”

“I haven’t even begun my preparations for Purim,” Jehosheba said dismally. “Other things have interfered.” Her gaze flickered accusingly at her husband.

“I’ll help you, Mother. We have more than enough time to prepare the gifts for the poor and food packages for our friends.” She selected two perfect apricots and started for the steps to the roof.

“He’s gone,” Ezra said.

Taphatha stopped and turned. She stared at him with alarm. “He can’t be!” she said, blinking. “His wounds aren’t fully healed.”

“Healed enough,” Jehosheba muttered.

“He left this morning, Taphatha.”

She ran up the steps to the roof. When she came down again, Ezra thought she would run after Marcus. She even took a few steps toward the door and then stopped. Her shoulders sagged, and with a soft cry, she sank down onto a stool. Her eyes filled with tears. “He did not even say good-bye.”

Jehosheba clutched the worn garment in her hands and studied her daughter. She looked up at Ezra, beseeching him.

To do what? he wondered.

“He said he would go,” Taphatha said tremulously, tears slipping down her cheeks. “He said it would be better if he did.”

“A pity he didn’t go sooner,” her mother said dismally.

“I hoped he would stay forever.”